The World's a Blur
by thosegoshdangwinchesters
Summary: The Apocalypse incident is still fresh in everyone's minds, but Peter thinks that he is the one suffering the most. Trapped in a cast and sharing a mansion with his father who doesn't yet know he's his father? Great. This should be one fun summer.
1. Chapter 1

Pain. Intense, excruciating, _never-ending_ pain was all Peter could feel. But the pain was nothing, nothing at all compared to the fear that Peter felt, looking down at his mutilated, broken leg as Apocalypse pulled sharply on his hair. _What if I never run again? What if I die? What if I never get the chance to tell Erik that I'm his son? What if I threw away my final opportunity at that damn magnetic field? Will I be mourned? Will he ever realize that the kid that broke him out of the pentagon was his kid? Will he ever understand why I wouldn't,_ _ **couldn't**_ _tell him? No. He won't ever realize, he'll watch you die and he won't care, you know why? Because you're a coward. You're a_ _ **goddamn coward and you are going to die unwanted and unloved all because you didn't have the balls to blurt out a single sentence.**_ _ **You deserve to die at this point. It's better this way.**_

 _Guess I finally get to meet the little sister I was too late to save._

"PETER!"

Peter blinked, snapping out of his self loathing stupor and looked up at the person calling for him. Raven. Huh. That's funny. He didn't realize Raven had died too. Oh. His leg was feeling kind of funny. A little itchy. As he focused on the sensation in his leg, he slowly realized that it wasn't itching, it was BURNING. With the burning sensation came the knowledge that he wasn't, in fact dead, because there was NO WAY that this much pain was possible if he didn't have a body. After further contemplation of his situation, Peter came to the conclusion that it would be a good idea to answer Raven fast, because she looked about ready to dig him out of the ground herself.

"I'm ok Raven, really, no need to worry, just need a shovel, and maybe a splint, some mountain dew, yeah some mountain dew would be great actually maybe make that two mountain dews and some painkillers and oh by the way what happened I see a handy dandy metal X in the ground over there what a beautiful design does it stand for X-men because it should definately stand for-"

"Peter, you're rambling." Raven said, a concerned look on her face. _Shit, she's right. That's not a good sign._ "Yeah, I think it might be a good idea if-SHIT!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Hank had decided to pull my leg out of the ground while I was distracted, resulting in a rather _painful_ feeling snaking all the way up my torso. With the absolutely LOVELY sight of the ground rushing up to meet me, I promptly blacked out.


	2. Chapter 2

"Do you think he'll listen to us?"

"What do you think? He's too hyper to sit still even when he _can_ use his leg. He's going to go insane, and he'll drag us all down with him."

"Hank, you better fix that leg FAST."

Peter was slowly becoming aware of murmuring around him, and instinctively tried to sit up. _Mistake._ Pain shot through his leg and he stopped moving it, settling with looking around. He was sitting in the medical room, on one of the beds meant for patients. Raven was standing next to his bed alongside Hank, who stubbornly fiddled with plaster and refused to look at Peter. "What happened?" Peter asked. Hank opened his mouth to reply, and then decided it would be a better idea to let Raven handle the situation. "Apocalypse broke your leg, Peter. It's going to be in a cast for a couple of weeks." She said, looking at Peter like a bomb about to go off. _Wait...did she say a couple of WEEKS?!_

"No. There is NO WAY that I am staying cooped up in this mansion for two weeks. Nope. I need to run, thank you very much," Peter said. "Now if you don't mind, I'll be goin-" _shitshitshitshit_

Peter had attempted to climb out of the bed, but a rather large and bulky cast had impaired his movement, causing him to fall, the bedsheets catching him halfway to the floor. He sat like this, in a tangled upside down mess until Raven finally stopped laughing enough to help him. "Glad to know I'm so loved," Peter said dryly as Raven finished untangling the sheets, causing him to flop onto the ground. Peter sat there, staring at the cast in despair, until Hank finally spoke up.

"It's not all bad. You need to refrain from running for a couple of weeks, but you can still walk. And the mansion is HUGE. I'm sure you'll find something to keep you occupied." Peter glared at him until he stopped talking, and then promptly stood up and hobbled out of the room. "Thanks for patching me up!" He shouted back over his shoulder.

As Peter walked down the hall, his mind was racing. _How am I going to survive WALKING for two weeks straight? There is no way I'm staying here. Maybe I can get a bonesaw and get this cast off while Hanks not looking, I bet my healing will have me better before the two weeks are up…_

Unfortunately for Peter, there was a corner coming up. Also unfortunately for peter, there was someone else turning that corner at the exact same time Peter did. Peter ran directly into them, bouncing back and ending up on the ground. "OW! Holy shit, you almost gave me a heart attack, watch where you're...going… _oh._ "

Standing directly in front of him was none other than a very concerned looking Erik Lensherr, Peter's unwitting father. _Shit._


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you ok, young man?"

Peter stared at the person standing over him and fought back the urge to curse. _Why wasn't Erik gone? He_ _ **never**_ _stayed at the mansion._ Peter swallowed and met Erik's eyes. "I'm fine, really! Just a little fall. Yup. No need to worry about me, no sir. You probably want to talk to Raven, right? She's just down the hall," Peter said, pointing towards the medical center.

Erik didn't move. "No, actually. I came down here to check on you."

 _What? Why?_

Peter continued to stare at Erik in confusion, until the oversized fridge magnet decided to break the awkward silence. "You need a hand?" He asked. Peter blinked, snapping out of his stupor and hesitantly grabbing the hand that Erik had offered. As Erik hoisted him to his feet, Peter made the awful decision to open his mouth, and blurted out something he regretted immediately.

"Can you teach me to play chess?"

 _YOU DON'T JUST ASK AN ALL POWERFUL MUTANT IF HE CAN TEACH YOU HOW TO PLAY CHESS STUPIDSTUPIDSTUPID REALLY MAXIMOFF THAT'S THE BEST YOU COULD COME UP WITH OH SURE HE'LL JUST MAGICALLY DROP EVERYTHING-_

Sweating, Peter quickly started to take the question back. "I mean- you don't have to if you don't want to- which you obviously **don't** want to, you're probably very busy-"

"Peter."

"Yeah?"

"I can teach you how to play chess, just _please_ calm down."

Peter grinned sheepishly, fidgeting with his headphones. "Thanks. I've always wanted to learn how to play, I've just never really had anyone to teach me." Erik frowned slightly. "That's unfortunate. Did your father and mother not understand the game?"

Peters grin dropped immediately as he avoided eye-contact with Erik. _No, my father never taught me because he doesn't know he has a son. (And he spends a lot of time, like, terrifying civilians or whatever)_

"Nah, no one at home knew how to play. Is there a place we should maybe meet?"

"Library, 3 o'clock tomorrow. I look forward to seeing you." Erik watched as the young, silver haired boy smiled and then hobbled down the hallway towards the elevator. He really did feel quite bad about knocking him down, especially as his leg was obviously broken and in a lot of pain. Perhaps he could make it up to him through their chess lessons. "OW!"

Erik looked up, startled. While he had been lost in thought, Peter had walked directly into a wall. He watched as Peter turned around and shot him a thumbs up. "I totally meant to do that, by the way." Erik simply waved at him and watched as the elevator doors closed on him.

 _What did I just sign up for?_


	4. Chapter 4

"Checkmate."

Peter let out an irritated sigh as Erik once again knocked his king over. He had had high hopes when they had begun his training this morning, but they were basically nonexistent now.

"How did you get to be this good in the first place?" Peter asked Erik. "I actually was quite bad at the game before I came to the manor a month ago. Charles has been able to help me develop my gameplay." Erik paused, brow furrowed. "You know, you have a problem very similar to what mine used to be. I used a very aggressive strategy not unlike yours. If you want to succeed in the game, you need to learn to be patient."

Peter knew that it wasn't like chess strategy was hereditary, but there was a teeny, illogical part of him that lit up when Erik said that Peter played like him. _Of course, he wouldn't understand why I feel like that, because I'm a fucking COWARD._ Peter repressed a small smile as he replied to Erik. "I guess I'll need to work on my strategy too. Thanks for teaching me today, Erik."

"It was no problem, Peter." Erik smiled(?) at him. Peter stared at Erik. _Tell him._ Peter slowly opened his mouth, closed it again, and then made up his mind.

"Erik, there's something I have to-" Peter started, but was cut off by a huge bang coming from outside. Erik got up and looked out the window, concerned. "Sorry Peter, could we continue this conversation another time? It looks as though one of the children is acting up again." Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak. As he watched Erik walk away, Peter felt rage start to boil up in the pit of his stomach. He was going to punch something if he didn't let some steam off somehow, so he turned and tried to run out the door. Key word; _tried_. Instead of dashing out of the door like he intended, Peter ended up on the floor, wind knocked out of him and leg throbbing.

He wasn't proud of what happened next.

" **GODDAMN IT ALL TO HELL!"** He roared, standing up and punching a shelf. As books fell from the sky, he turned and kicked over the chess set. " **WHY? WHY IS IT THAT EVERY FUCKING TIME I GET CLOSE TO TELLING HIM SOMETHING HAPPENS?! I'M A COWARD! A FUCKING COWARD! I HATE THIS MANSION! I HATE MYSELF! BUT MOST OF ALL, I. HATE. THIS. CAST!"** Peter, burnt out from his fit of rage, collapsed on the ground, sobbing. _What a pathetic mess, Maximoff. Look at you, bawling your eyes out on the ground._ When he finally somewhat composed himself, Peter slowly stood up and glanced around at the study, guilt stewing in his gut. "Well shit," he muttered, glancing around. "How am I supposed to get this all cleaned up?"

"With help from me."


	5. Chapter 5

Peter sat across from his twin, free leg bouncing up and down. She'd shown up 5 minutes ago and with her help, the study was now completely clean.

Peter opened his mouth to ask what she was doing here (and more importantly, how she knew he was here, like seriously, keeping tabs on him was one thing but STALKING him was more akin to what she was doing), but was immediately cut off.

"I know you have some questions, but those aren't very important right now. All you need to know is that I was in town and decided to drop by when I realized that you were here. And it looks like I showed up just in time." Wanda said, staring pointedly at the shelf that had been knocked over.

Peter grinned sheepishly and looked down at the floor. "Yeah, I guess I've been having a hard time adjusting to this cast. And being in such close proximity to a father who doesn't even know me isn't helping," He said bitterly. "I understand that you don't care to be around the man, and you blame him for leaving mom but I still want to give him a chance!"

He half expected Wanda to leave or scold him, but to his surprise she did neither. "Peter…" She sighed. "I don't pretend to get why you are so determined to get to know him, but that's why I'm here for now. You're an idiot-" Peter made a choked noise of indignation "-and you need some advice."

Peter perked up at this, and looked at her hopefully. _Does this mean she'll be staying?_

Wanda, as if reading his mind, shook her head. "No Peter, I need to leave. It's too dangerous for me to stay in one place."

The silver haired mutant wilted, his face shifting into an overdramatic pout. He honestly hadn't expected her to stay, but a guy could hope.

"Before I go, I wanted to tell you that it wasn't your fault."

Peters pout disappeared, leaving his face carefully blank and guarded. "I don't know what you mean, sis."

Wanda just looked at him, pity filling her eyes. "You need to realize that there is no way you could've gotten there on time, and that he won't hate you because of that. You've got to forgive yourself, Pete. Stop beating yourself up. Nina wouldn't have wanted that."

Peter sat still as a statue, not daring to even blink as his facade could slip and leave him crying in front of his terrifyingly knowledgeable twin. _Nina._ Memories of the sister that he had never known flooded his head, leaving him staring at her blood on the ground, her tomb. _You couldn't have changed it._ Couldn't he have? If he had arrived just a few hours before-

"Peter."

He looked up at Wanda, her face etched with concern, and realized that a single tear had leaked out of his eye. He hastily brushed it away, doing his best to remain calm.

"Thanks Wanda. I appreciate it."

His twin nodded, smiling softly at him. Somehow, without her saying a word, Peter knew that it was time for her to leave. He would miss her just like he always did, but he was used to it. Standing up, he pulled her into a hug.

"See you again soon." He whispered. She nodded, and gave him one last smile before she turned and walked out of the study. As he watched her receding back, Peter contemplated what she had said. _Maybe it's time to move forward instead of staying stuck in one place._ With new resolve, he turned to the window and gazed out at Erik working damage control for a training session with some of the younger mutants.

Scratch that. Resolve was gone. _Maybe I can move forward slowly for now_ , he thought, sighing.

* * *

A/N: I'm soooooooo sorry I disappeared off the face of the earth! I had complete writers block, and I feel awful for leaving you guys for so long. (This is why we pre-plan fics, people) I've managed to get my crap together and write up a basic sequence of events for this fic now though, so be expecting updates at least every two weeks until this is done. Thanks for being patient with me T-T


	6. Chapter 6

A cool breeze blew in from the north, rustling old oak leafs as Erik strolled through the yard. He had recently taken to wandering aimlessly throughout the gardens-something he had used to do consistently with Nina-in order to calm his raging mind. He had at first avoided anything even slightly related to her, because it hurt, _oh god it hurt so much._ Every time he heard a child's laughter in the distance, or felt the gentle caress of a warm autumn wind, he was back in that forest all over again. Reliving every vivid moment, as he clutched the lifeless bodies of the two he had let into his stone heart, only for them to be wrenched from him in a bout of pain and anger.

 _You could have saved them,_ the voice always said. The voice that was always there, in the back of Erik's mind. A whisper that never ceased-a gentle stream that could become a raging waterfall in a matter of seconds.

 _Join them. Just a little slip of the hand, of the foot, and you'll see them again._

It was getting harder to silence The Voice. Everyday, Erik had to fight against it harder and harder. But this was a downhill battle. It was slowly picking away at his sanity, and Erik had been in enough fights to recognize one that he was surely bound to lose.

The snapping of a branch violently tugged the dark haired man out of his thoughts, and he whipped around to find a completely unfamiliar scene. Lost in thought, he had walked far further into the forest than he had ever intended. He was still alone, thankfully. _I should be grateful I didn't wander into a pack of children at any point- I quite honestly don't want to deal with them right now._

Yes, Erik was completely and utterly alone. Something, however, caused him to freeze. If he was alone... _then what had snapped the branch?_ Erik quickly began surveying his surroundings, watching for any movement. After another five minutes of surveillance, he was forced to conclude that in his own clumsiness he had trodden on a fallen stick. Humiliating, but better than having been followed.

The mutant shook his head, and returned to attempting to return to the mansion.

 _I had been traveling east, and so all I need to do is…_ "Backtrack by traveling west," He murmured. As he set off back towards the mansion, Erik once again let his mind drift. This time, to his surprise, his thoughts did not drift towards his family. Instead he found himself fixated on Peter. He had been surprised to see the young mutant who had broken him out of prison all those years ago, and had felt quite terrible once his leg was broken. Despite only knowing him for a short while, anyone could clearly see that running was Peter's life. Perhaps that was what caused Eric to seek him out and accept the boy's request to be taught chess. Or perhaps he was just growing soft. Either way, Erik was glad for the company (not that he would ever admit it, of course. Especially not to Charles).

There was something in the silver haired speedster that reminded the metal bender of himself, in a way that he didn't know how to describe. The most accurate portrayal of what Erik saw in Peter was probably the way that Erik had seen his own intelligence in Nina, but that was ridiculous.

 _Already looking for a replacement for your daughter, Erik? It's probably for the better that she's dead now, seeing as her father obviously didn't care for her at all! And you wonder why the world just won't leave you alone. It's because you are a demon, Erik. You deserve every tear. Every drop of blood._ _ **You deserve this grief.**_

The sharp taste of salt forced Erik to surface from his self destruction, bringing the tears flowing down his cheeks to his attention. He had stopped beneath a large oak tree that reminded him of the tree Nina had been so fond of climbing in the back yard.

 _Had. She doesn't climb that tree anymore, now does she?_

Erik choked back a sob and let his shoulder slump against the tree. He suddenly found he didn't have the strength to go on, and no part of his body contested his decision to stop.

Feeling completely, and utterly alone in the world, Erik fell to his knees and wept.

* * *

 **A/N:** hahahahahahAHAHAHAHA. I'm a freaking liar. I apologize for the lack of updates that I promised you guys. I completely lost all motivation to write this fic and I just barely pulled myself together long enough to write a single chapter. I am NOT abandoning this story. Expect the next update soon, FOR REAL THIS TIME. Thanks for being patient with me cupcakes.


	7. Chapter 7

Pietro was, for lack of a better word to describe it, absolutely fucked. In hindsight, he realized that attempting to corner Erik in the woods when he clearly wanted to be alone was a frankly awful idea. He had realized this fact and had been attempting to quietly sneak away when his plaster prison had decided to snag on a branch, causing the normally graceful young man to fall directly into a tree- snapping one of the low hanging twigs in the process.

 _This is how it ends,_ thought Peter. _They'll never find my body because it'll have been completely disposed of by The Fridge Magnet. They'll say, "Whatever happened to Peter?" and Erik will say oh, I reckon he must've just left. Never can tell what that boys up to. And nobody will suspect him because Charles is a literal teddy bear and nobody can suspect people Charles defends. Alas, my life was a shitty one. Goodbye, cruel, cruel world…_

For good measure, and because Peter was a dramatic little shit governed by chaos, he used his extraordinary speed for what it's obvious intended purpose was- whipping out his MP3 and playing _Watcha Say._

This effort was in the end rather pointless, as again, Peter was a dramatic little shit and Erik did not actually find the speedster crying softly as he stroked his MP3 player on the forest floor.

No, instead Peter was forced to suffer a much more difficult fate. And it was at times like these when he was reminded of home- of protecting his little sister from a devastated mother wracked by grief. Of late nights wondering why he hadn't been good enough for the man who broke his mother's heart. It was times like these when he remembered _why_ he'd begun stealing. Boredom wasn't the only driving force. If his mother was distracted by his delinquency, she was grounded. She couldn't spiral. And so Pietro had given up what chance he had at an unscarred future record and, potentially, a normal life.

He hadn't thought he'd had much heart left, but watching his father sob uncontrollably over the loss of (what he believed to be) his only family, Peter felt his heart break just a little bit more.

 **I know, I know. I'm a terrible person- sorry for the wait guys.**


	8. Chapter 8

After a few days of Erik being puzzled why the speedster yelped and scuttled in the opposite direction if he so much as caught a glimpse of him, he'd had enough. But confusion combined with a strange sadness was not a very fun emotion to tolerate, so he merely suppressed it. Because, as he knew, suppression was _obviously_ a fantastic coping method.

Was Erik moodier than usual? According to everyone but the metal bender himself, yes. He had been looming around corners and snapping at anyone unlucky enough to find him in the kitchen during one of his depressed midnight walks. When Hank decided it was about time to point this fact out to Erik, he was almost immediately met with an intimidating six feet of angry German.

"I have **not** been moody lately, you've merely been getting underfoot more than usual," said Erik, waving his arms about. Hank contented himself with trying to look as small as possible, as he had spotted a kitchen knife give a little wriggle in the chopping block- looking for all the world as if it had been contemplating shooting towards him. _I'd like to keep my internal organs looking like actual organs and not cheese, thanks._ At that moment he was painfully aware of the plethora of rather sharp and dangerous kitchen utensils at Erik's disposal, and had slightly tuned out of the rant he'd begun.

 _Holy shit, he's still talking. It's been like a minute. I should probably listen at some point,_ thought Hank, _but jesus christ on a scooter does that spoon look more ominous than it should._

"-and poking about in someone's personal business, how rude! I thought Charles had at least the common decency to teach manners in this godforsaken household but _nooooooo-_ " continued Erik.

 _That spoon is definitely eyeing me,_ thought Hank.

(If spoons could think, said spoon would probably be thinking something along the lines of how awesome it would be to impale the man that kept staring at it like it was some novelty, and not using it as a spoon like a normal human being. As we all know however, spoons cannot think and so this notion is ridiculous.)

"-think he hates me? I mean I sure hope not, the young lad asked me to teach him to play chess, but at the same time...I didn't help him when he needed help. If I had just listened when they asked me to stop, he would've never broken his leg. He nearly died, and I didn't intervene."

With a jolt, Hank tuned back into reality. _Is he talking about Peter? Is_ _ **THIS**_ _why he's so moody?_

Erik had moved to lean on the edge of the counter, and was, horrifyingly, looking like an actual sad human being and not an intimidating robot. Hank hadn't dealt with a sad Erik Lensherr since Charles had been paralyzed, and the devastated mutant leader hadn't been Hank's problem at the time. Confronted with the broken metal bender, Hank had absolutely no clue what to do.

And so, Hank did the only thing he knew how to do in a situation involving messy emotions.

He panicked.

"There there," he said awkwardly, moving in and patting the taller mans head.

 _What. Am. I. Doing._

Erik's bemused expression told him that head pats were probably not the solution to this problem, so he tried the next best thing.

"Perhaps you should just talk to Peter," He said haltingly. Words were always a good fail safe when physical comfort failed. Which, in Hanks experience. It often did. Of course, this could also be due to how terrible Hank was in any situation involving actual human contact, so his experience was to be taken with a grain of salt.

Erik looked at him, eyebrows furrowing. "And how in the world am I going to talk to him if he continues to avoid me?" He inquired dryly.

Hank paused. "Well," he mused, "he _is_ wearing a cast. Have you ever tried to run after him?"

The astounded look on Erik's face told him that no, this simple solution had _not_ occurred to him. Not being used to Peter having his speed restrained, just running after him had not been a solution on the table.

But now that Erik thought about it, the most effective solution had been all in front of him all along. Through his over complication he'd almost eliminated it, but now that he mulled it over he realized how simple it would be to talk to Peter.

Tomorrow was going to be rather interesting, he thought. Rather interesting indeed.

And without saying another word, he turned and walked towards his room, leaving a rather confused Hank behind.


End file.
